


32 days

by exquisiteahnia



Category: Paterson (2016)
Genre: Choking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Hair-pulling, Inspired by Paterson (2016), Oral Sex, Relationship(s), Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Sweet/Hot, Vaginal Sex, Venezia | Venice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26919514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exquisiteahnia/pseuds/exquisiteahnia
Summary: It all happened because of a pen. Such a small, ordinary object changed a lot for you. Despite the “goodbye”, It gave you more than you could ever ask for. 32 days with him.
Relationships: Paterson (Paterson) & You, Paterson (Paterson)/Reader, Paterson (Paterson)/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	32 days

There weren’t words to describe how anxious, nervous, but excited you were. As you waited at the departure lounge, It was impossible not to wonder, your mind travelling far away as you imagined thousands of different scenarios. Being completely by yourself, for a whole month and in a totally different country could be very stressful. But for you, oh, It was the best decision you had ever made.

  
  


There was something about just flying away, exploring different possibilities you had - finding yourself. No, you weren’t lost, but life - in your opinion - was about understanding yourself, pushing limits and screwing up. Screw up hundreds of times, but live. Love, laugh, cry and scream your lungs out. Feel everything with every single atom inside your body, find happiness. Maybe that’s what you were seeking: happiness. Although your life was good, there had always been a greater desire within you. A passion for the unknown, to understand things. 

  
  


So far, your biggest passion was photography. The way you could capture exactly what you felt through the camera, how magical It was to actually feel things through your pictures. Along with that, you liked to write notes about every photo you took, reminding you what you felt the moment you were taking them. Those were your everyday partners: the camera - which you affectionately named “Dalia” -, and your notebook, with your pen placed between the pages. If there were two things you couldn’t live without, were these.

  
  


“ _ Last call for the flight AA1442, to Venice, Italy. _ ” The modified voice announced, through the airport’s speakers.

  
  


Swiftlying getting up, you grabbed your handbag and hat, walking in long strides until the counter. You showed the flight attendant your passport and documents, a big smile plastered on your face, ear to ear. She took in her hands, quickly giving them back to you as she nodded. 

  
  


The pit of your stomach was burning, heart speeding up as you finally got inside the plane. It was real, that was actually happening, and you could barely believe It as you settled in your seat, obviously the window one. Still on the ground, the view was already amazing, the sky was a gorgeous shade of baby blue and the sun spotted right above your seat, illuminating your face. From that moment, you already knew that this trip would be amazing.

  
  


The trip was quicker than you thought, but very tiring. However, the second you stepped foot outside that plane, your body was filled with energy again and ready to explore every corner of Venice. With your camera already in hands, you grabbed your bags at the luggage conveyor and made your way to the exit, hoping to get information on how to get to your airbnb.

You opted for an apartment rather than a hotel, since you were staying for a whole month. 

  
  


Looking around, you spotted an information desk and felt relieved, you hadn’t thought about that small detail: you only spoke the very basic Italian, and there were no cars in Venice. How the hell would you get to your apartment?

  
  


“ _ Buongiorno, signore. _ ” You said, your american accent and lack of Italian vocabulary showing off pretty clearly. You stared at the man, waiting for his answer, maybe he didn’t understand you.

  
  


“American, right?” He asked, scanning you from head to toe, brows raised.

  
  


“Yes! Uh, I’d like to ask you how I can get to my airbnb. It’s on,” You said, as you grabbed your notebook, in which you had written all the info about the apartment - including the address, “ _ Calle Dego.. Degolin _ ?” 

  
  


He sighed. “First, you’ll have to take a water taxi from here, to as closest as possible to your destination. Then, you walk.”

  
  


“Oh, okay. How can I book a water taxi for me?” You asked.

  
  


“You can do It here. It will be  €100 for the whole launch.” He said, giving you a ticket. You quickly opened your bag, grabbing your wallet.

  
  


“Here,” you said, giving him the money. “Thank you!” You grabbed your stuff, and he gave you a nod.

  
  


There was a dock with a lot of boats, and a sign written “ _ Water taxis _ ”. The way was just unbelievably beautiful and mesmerizing. Just within a few minutes your camera was almost full, with hundreds of pictures of the sky and the canals. The restaurants on the way were delicately decorated with lights, flowers and different patterns of colors. It was breathtaking, you felt the breeze against your skin and small drops of water splashing on your face. The sun of early morning burnt against you, there were no clouds and the sky was absolutely gorgeous.

  
  


Thankfully, the flat wasn’t too far away and before you noticed, you had arrived. Once you left the water taxi, you walked for about 10 minutes, but maybe a little more since you stopped to take pictures of absolutely everything you saw along the way. As you got inside, It was exactly like the pictures: cozy, beautiful and bigger than you expected. There were vases of flowers and plants all over the place, wood walls and several paintings scattered through them. It was more like a loft, only a half wall separating the living room from your room. Once you looked around the room, you saw a door, which led to the bathroom. The kitchen was separated through a balcony from the living room, that had a brown fluffy couch and a carpet. It was perfect, just how you wanted It to be.

  
  


After taking a shower, you wrapped a towel around your body and organized your things. Despite feeling tired after hours on a plane, you didn’t want to waste a single minute, and searched on your phone for touristics points you could visit later in the evening. Rialto Bridge called your attention, the pictures were to die for, especially during sunset. Since It was still early, you decided to take a nap before going, and just jumped on the bed - which was very comfortable -, burying your face on the pillow.

  
  


You didn’t know how much time had passed, but as you woke up you immediately got up, sticking your head outside the window. By the colour of the sky, you could tell sunset would be in at least one hour. Running towards the closet, you grabbed the first piece of cloth you saw: a white dress that exposed most of your arms and legs. A brown bag, in which you just shoved your camera and notebook inside of It, along with documents and some cash. And for last, a pair of boots. You were filled with excitement, and the way to the bridge was just incredible. Every minute closer to sunset, more colors could be seen in the sky, creating a beautiful and unique pattern of colors. 

  
  


As you arrived, there weren’t many people - thankfully -, and It would be easier to take your pictures. Leaning against the bridge railing, you grabbed your camera and started taking them. Slowly, the colors changed, and you wanted to capture every single one of them, every shade of blue, orange and yellow. There were no words to explain how you felt as you stared into the sunset, feeling the wind against you, making your dress fly behind your knees and exposing a little more of your thighs. The words were stuck inside your throat, and you swiftly grabbed your notebook to write on It. As you opened It, there was something missing: your pen.

  
  


“No, no,” You mumbled, searching through your bag, “It  _ has _ to be here.” But as you looked more, you accepted that It wasn’t there. It probably fell when you were putting your stuff on the closet, shit.

  
  


Looking around, you desperately tried to think of a way, but apparently there wasn’t and you’d have to wait until you got back to the flat. Sighing, you put your camera inside your bag again and kept admiring the view. Glancing at your right, you saw a man, arms leaned against the bridge railing. On his hands there was a notebook, in which he was writing with a pen. Hesitant, you carefully walked closer to him, stopping an arm length away as you watched him by the corner of your eye. 

  
  


Something about him called your attention, you just didn’t know exactly what It was. He looked so concentrated and focused on his writing, completely lost on his own thoughts, small strands of his raven hair falling over his eye and forehead. His blue, long sleeved shirt contracted perfectly with his skin. He was bent over the railing, but even like that It was pretty obvious he was much taller than you.

  
  


The thought of being interrupted annoyed you, and you patiently waited until he was finished - you didn’t dare to disturb him when he seemed so concentrated. His eyes were narrowed, reading his own words over and over again, like there was nothing around him besides the object on his hands - which, by the way, were huge. 

  
  


He looked somehow frustrated, a sigh escaping his lips as he bit the tip of the pen. Anxiety pooled inside of you, and in a split second It turned into embarrassment as he finally glanced at you, acknowledging your presence. A silent gasp fell through your lips, his piercing brown eyes staring directly into yours, before falling to your legs, then meeting your gaze again. 

  
  


“Uh, hi!” You said, already feeling your cheeks running hot. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just wanted to ask you if, uh,” you were lost in your own words, as his eyes stared into yours non stop, intimidating you. “I was just wondering, if I could borrow your pen for just a few seconds, maybe?”

  
  


The embarrassment you felt couldn’t be put into words, especially when you realized that maybe he didn’t speak English, and you were practically talking to yourself. Mortified, you felt your palms sweating, a heat across your face and neck and he just kept looking at you, like he was searching for something. Actually, It felt like he had zoned out while staring at you.

  
  


“ _ Scusi  _ me,  _ signore _ .” You mixed english with the little bit of Italian that you knew, to see if he would understand. To your surprise, he chuckled, and straightened his body, which was now facing you.

  
  


He towered over you, and you instantly felt a twist inside your stomach, your heart skipping a beat as you got a better view at him. He was even more beautiful than you had noticed, and you quickly looked down, playing with your hair as you felt your face burning.

  
  


“I have to admit, your Italian is  _ way _ better than mine.” He said, a smile on his face. You looked at him again, both of you exchanging looks but no words were said. “The pen.” He said, giving It to you.

  
  


“Thank you  _ so much _ !” You said, taking It from his hands. 

  
  


The way he looked at you made your chest flutter, your hand seemed so small compared to his as you took the pen, your fingers slightly brushing against his. Writing in your notebook was relieving, the words were finally being set free through the pen, filling almost an entire page. There was a lot more you wanted to write, but you didn’t want to take too much time from him and turned to face him again, handing him the pen.

  
  
  


“You seem like you have more to write.” He said, raising a brow.

  
  


“No, don’t worry about that.” You said, shaking your head. “I don’t want to take too much of your time.”

  
  


His gaze met yours again, a shiver down your spine as you noticed the details inside his eyes, the look inside of them. Ember, with shades of green. Just completely exquisite, like nothing you had seen before.

  
  


“I don’t mind.” He said, a grin spreading across his face, exposing his dimples. “As long as you let me watch you as you write.” His words caught you by surprise, and you chuckled, until you realized he was being serious.

  
  


“ _ Oh _ ,” you said, as your gaze fell upon the pen that you held between your fingers. “Ok, I guess It’s fair since I practically interrupted you.”

  
  


“I’m glad you did.” He mumbled, like he didn’t mean to say It out loud. His eyes never once left your face, scanning every feature you had, every single detail from your forehead to your chin. 

  
  


Against your own will, you felt a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach, the more he looked at you, the more nervous you felt, your legs becoming jelly. Smiling at him, you brought your mind back to your writing, but It was almost impossible to concentrate with him by your side.

  
  


His presence made you nervous, but not in a bad way. Definitely not in a bad way. Your hand just kept writing, the words automatically being written, but your mind was much more interested in the figure that stood only a few inches away from you. It was impossible not to look at him from the corner of your eye, and your cheeks ran hot as you noticed how intensely he stared at you, genuinely interested in what you were doing.

  
  


Once you were done writing, you handed him the pen back, another touch from his calloused fingers against yours making your heart beat faster. The sparks inside your body when you felt his warm skin were unexplainable, why would a stranger cause such an effect on you? Without noticing, your lips opened in a smile, a shy one. The kind of smile when you feel like a complete idiot and there’s a bright inside your eyes. 

  
  


“You have a beautiful smile.” He said, as the orange of the sunset contrasted with his skin, revealing the various spots on his face and creating lighter streaks in his hair that fell upon his forehead.

  
  


You laughed awkwardly, cheeks running hot with nervousness. “Thank you.” You said, unable to stop smiling. “So, how do I look when I’m writing?”

  
  


“Well,” he said, not once his gaze left yours. “You look very focused, concentrated. Like the world around doesn’t exist anymore.” He hummed, like he was thinking. “Also, It’s  _ impossible _ to not notice the way you narrow your eyes and your brows furrow.” He chuckled.

  
  


“I don’t do that!” You said, folding your arms around your chest. “You’re one to say. When you write you look like you’re completely emerged in your notebook, constantly biting the tip of your pen.”

  
  


He laughed, glancing at the view. “So you were watching me?” He said, smirking. 

  
  


“I wouldn’t say  _ watching _ .” You said, completely embarrassed. “I was just patiently waiting until you were done, so I could ask for your pen.”

  
  


He hummed, as you both stared at each other, exchanging intense looks. There was something strangely comforting on him, on the way he looked at you. Eyes so intense, like they were looking through you. For the first time you had no words to describe how you were feeling. But It surely felt good.

  
  


“I’m Paterson.” He said, a grin spreading across his face.

  
  


“Nice to meet you, Paterson.” You said, proceeding to tell him your name. “What were you writing in there?” You asked, pointing at his notebook. 

  
  


“Oh,” his gaze fell upon the object in his hands. “I write poems. About the things around me, feelings.” His eyes met yours again. “What about you?”

  
  


“I write about every picture I take.” You said, glancing at the sunset. “About how I was feeling the moment I took them, and how the picture Itself makes me feel.”

  
  


“Can I see any of your pictures?” He asked, a hint of a smile on his pinky lips.

  
  


“Maybe one day.” You replied, smirking. Paterson raised his brows, a short breath escaping his mouth.

  
  


“Does that mean I’ll see you again?” He asked, a smirk on his face. “Because I’d like that very much.” He said with a husky voice, almost whispering. Those words made a warmth rush through your body, a heat across your face and neck, cheeks running hot with nervousness and excitement. Butterflies. That’s what you felt in the pit of your stomach: butterflies.

  
  


“Are you asking me out?” You asked, fluttering your eyes at him as you smirked. 

  
  


Paterson blushed, running his fingers through his hair as he chuckled, clearly nervous and hesitant. The way he acted around you was so genuine, so true and natural. Everything about him attracted you, like a magnet pulling you constantly and you couldn’t stop It. The sound of his laugh made your chest flutter, the pit of your stomach burning more and more. 

  
  


“I hope you are, or this situation will be  _ very _ awkward for me.” You said, nervously laughing. 

  
  


“How about we meet  _ right here _ at 12pm,” he said as his eyes glanced at the bridge. “And then, we decide where to go?” 

  
  


“That sounds perfect.” You were sure you looked like an idiot, smiling from ear to ear. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You said, already turning around to leave.

  
  


“Wait,” Paterson gently grabbed your hand, sending sparks of electricity through your entire body, his hand fitting perfectly in yours. “Here.” He said, giving you his pen.

  
  


You looked at him in confusion, brows furrowed. “What’s that for?” You asked.

  
  


“An extra one, to carry with you. I don’t want to risk you asking for another stranger to borrow their pen.”


End file.
